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Love and Hate. Emphasis on the Hate

Xanadu Weyr - Wanderin' Wherry TavernIt is often whispered, in the crowds that converge here, that a certain Weyrleader was asked what he wanted in the remodeling of the pub that was not so long ago given a refreshing. He muttered back over the rim of his ever-present mug, "I don't care what you do with the place, just so long as there is plenty of ale." With that in mind, cask after cask of ale lines the walls of the tavern, the remodeler's idea of a jest. As they age, the casks bring a real rustic atmosphere to the pub, along with the deeply wooden flavor that seems to be the theme throughout.The lighting is dim, as it should be in all good pubs, and the tables and chairs are plentiful. A long mahogany bar, intricately carved with runner beasts, stands vigilant duty at the head of the bar, lined with stools for those patrons that seek the bartender's company. Behind it are drinks for those not inclined toward ale, as well as a door leading to the small kitchen where snacks are made and a back room that probably holds yet more ale.

IT. IS. ONE. OF. THOSE. DAYS. Do you know the kind of day? The, 'I'm pretty sure I'm going to murder the next person that looks at me wrong because my cat maybe fell out of a tree and my hair wouldn't do what I told it and I found a hole in EVERY SINGLE SOCK, HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE? and my best friend was unavailable and my favorite shoes were eaten by a dragon and I AM THINKING IN RUN ON SENTENCES HELP ME BECAUSE IT'S THAT KIND OF A DAY,' kind of days? That's the kind of day Risali is having, and while her socks may not be holy (hahaha, badum-tsh), and her boots may not be in the stomach of a dragon, she's pretty sure she's going to murder the next person that looks at her the wrong way. Or L'gan. Or K'vir. Whichever comes first. Also, her hair? Doing its own thing. It's clear that the harper's tried to tame it by tying it off, but the ever-present curls are escaping her hastily done runners-tail at every turn, defying gravity with angles odd enough to make her wild-haired father proud and his hair weep with envy. It's unfortunate, really. And it's probably why she's here now, in the tavern, suspiciously alone unless you count the slowly diminishing glass of something-strong-enough-to-make-me-forget as company (and trust me you, Risali does) and the maybe handful-or-so of patrons that she keeps bumping into with giddily druken delight. Risali's both arms up in the air, singing at the top of her lungs, swaying her hips and doing a hop-hop-hop every now and again to the music playing in an attempt to get people dancing. AND RISALI IS DANCING. So is her drink, sloshing about haphazardly in its confinement and threatening to wet Risali, or the patrons, or the floor, or all three. But Risali does this murderously. Is that possible? It is now. WORK WITH ME HERE. So yes, drunk girls dancing drunk on drunk dance floors that the tavern has because WE DO WHAT WE WANT 'ROUND HERE.

And of all the gin joints in all the world, R'hynwould be in this one. The man makes his life halfway across Pern, but on THIS DAY OF ALL DAYS, on this day where nothing goes right and everything's a mess and all Risali wants to do is forget… enter R'hyn, stage left. It's probably for the best that Risa is three sheets to the wind (four? five? how many sheets is it when you've got more drink on the floor than in your glass?); maybe she'll miss his face, which alas poor bronzerider, is just his face and is the face he always makes around Risali, that sort of pinched and lip-twitched look that's somewhere between eternal amusement and low-key wariness and just— it's a face, okay. And he's making it, even as he sidles in from whatever-he's-doing-here, side-eyeing the woman long and hard before ordering something straight. Back it's knocked with nary a wince, tongue dragging over teeth before clicking behind them once, twice, several times, gaze fixated on Risa, clearly contemplating. THEN HE GOES IN FOR THE SWOOP, abusing his tallness to lean over and snatch at Risa's glass, attempting to steal it clean out of her hand even as his momentum keeps going. Around her he swivels, tutting out an amused, "Tsk, tsk. And here I thought this place had standards." O NO HE D'INT. "Who let you in?" O YES HE DID. Because Risali isn't allowed to have nice things, not even drunk murder dancing. Poor thing.

I mean, REALLY. With a dragon and the ability to be ANYWHERE ON PERN (preferably *between*. Forever.), R'hyn just has to be here, doesn't he? Not with her peskily wild-haired and brooding father, or with his ever-present needle wielding, full-of-threatening menace (HA! RIGHT) healer lady-friend. No. R'hyn has to be here, IN THIS TAVERN, with Risali. That tavern that she was CLEARLY OCCUPYING FIRST, BY THE BY. RUDE, R'HYN, THAT YOU EVEN EXIST LET ALONE IN HER SPACE. I am telling you, it is that kind of a day. Risali might be so caught up in trying not to fall while she 'dances', so caught up in the lyrics and the rhythm and the forget-life-who-needs-one drink, that she misses the face R'hyn makes (A GOOD THING, BECAUSE MURDER IS ILLEGAL ON ALL THE CONTINENTS, YOU KNOW), but she cannot possibly DRUNK AWAY (YES DRUNK, NOT DRINK) the towering beastie heading her way, smelling strongly of drink himself now, nor does she have enough wit about her to keep him from not only STEALING HER DRINK AND MONOPOLIZING HER BUBBLE, but from SPEAKING. Now it's Risali's turn to make that face that she always makes around R'hyn, the one with thinly veiled menace promising HURT AND PAIN AND PROBABLY DEATH in the upward curl of a sneering lip and the furrowing inward draw of PERFECT EYEBROWS (SOME OF HER HAIR LISTENED TODAY) that says 'FUCK YOU AND THE DRAGON YOU RODE IN ON SIR' without her even having to say a word. A look that would probably be a lot more intimidating if it didn't disperse with a quickness when the not-nearly-as-tall woman sways and then squints at the drink in R'hyn's hand. "If you're here, this place definitely doesn't have standards. I try not to haunt the places that welcome THOUSAND FOOT TALLS WHATEVER THE HELL YOU ARE IN THEM." And she's shouting because the music got loud. HONEST (it's a lie). One little finger goes JABBING for the sternum of a STUPIDLY TALL BRONZERIDER as she taps her foot once, twice, thrice with impatience and holds out her hand. "AND GIVE ME BACK MY DRINK YOU STUPID WHERRY-FACED… WHERRY. WHY ARE YOU HERE?" JUST THE MUSIC. AND THE INCREASING LIKELIHOOD OF VIOLENCE.

HEY MAN, it isn't R'hyn's fault Risali has the WORST LUCK EVER, some kind of ill-begotten, probably-because-you're-RUDE shit stick dealt by the hand of fate. The poor man probably stood in the clearing for five minutes debating if he wanted alcohol or klah once released from duty and, unable to make up his own damn mind because he's R'HYN, eenie-meenie-miney-mo'd his way into the damn tavern. Hint: he did. Sure, he regrets every decision he's made since, clearly having forgotten just how cranky the woman can be for someone so smol (seriously, how can so much RAGE fit into someone tiny enough he could probably punt her if he tried real hard?), but here they are, and here he is, holding her drink over his head and far, far out of her reach. He knows it, too, judging by the way brows lower and lips quirk up, all taunt and mirth in the face of her ire because HE STILL HASN'T LEARNED. One too many blow to the head, for sure. "Well, alas, here I am, and they served me, so perhaps you'd better go. I'd hate for someone of importance to see you talking to me," he drawls, keeping an even tone out of sheer cussedness, refusing to raise his voice to her level. IT'S NOT THE MUSIC, GURLFRIEND, IT'S JUST YOU. Finger-jabs earn a downwards flick of blue-grey eyes, watching the poke-poking with amusement before one eyebrow launches itself towards his floppy hairline. "I'm here to have a drink," he says with a particular sort of smugness he can ONLY have picked up from her aforementioned ragga(stud)muffin father, who is really just ever SUCH a bad influence on his life, R.I.P., because three, two, one… and without breaking eye contact, he drinks her drink. JUST LIKE THAT. FIGHT HIM, RISALI.

WOAH WOAH WOAH. WOAH. WOAH. That bronzerider clearly needs to EENIE-MEENIE-MINEY-MO HIS WAY BACK OUTTA THERE because it is about to get REAL. Nevermind fate and luck and THINGS SHE DOESN'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT BECAUSE IT'S ONE OF THOSE DAYS; there are much more pressing matters here, and they involve R'hyn, R'hyn's abuse of his height (or HER height, depending on how you look at it), and THE DESCIMATION OF HER I-WAS-PROBABLY-GOING-TO-SPILL-ALL-OF-THAT-ON-THE-FLOOR-ANYWAY-BUT-FUCK-YOU-STILL-IT'S-THE-PRINCIPLE DRINK by R'hyn's STUPID. FACE. And not because she THREW IT IN HIS FACE (which would have been a perfectly acceptable reason to say RIP to her liquid… rage), but because he PUT IT IN HIS OWN FACE. IN HIS MOUTH, TO BE EXACT, WITH ITS PERFECT LIPS AND IT'S STUPIDLY HANDSOME - NO!!!!! Risali can't even speak she's so busy sputtering in her rage and indignantly mentally DENYING ANY EXTREMELY UNAPPROPROS ATTRACTION, BECAUSE SHE LOVES K'VIR MORE (no really, she does) AND GROSS HE KISSES HER DAD (she pretends that's the extent of their relations) AND ANYWAY, SHE'S trying to formulate a properly FURIOUS SENTENCE while those wide grey eyes are fixated on her empty glass with SURPRISE (and she's questioning WHY she's surprised) and her mouth is opening and closing and opening and closing again until finally, "YOU - !" It comes out as a kind of pterodactyl screech, the kind that's audible enough to make the music stutter to a halt while all the sweaty bodies exuding FUN around them come to clumsy stops, LOOKING ON DISAPPROVINGLY. Risali, for once, seems aware of all of the eyes on her, and - wait for it - ACTUALLY BACKS DOWN, ducking her head as grey eyes sweep the crowd and she makes an apologetic motion with her hands that starts the music back up and gets the people dancing again and ALLOWS HER TO HATE R'HYN WITHOUT SHAME ONCE MORE. And then she's all FURIOUS SILENT DEATH-THREATS WITH HER EYES. "You owe me you thief." And she doesn't have to REACH HIS STUPIDLY HIGH-UP HAND because the tiny whirlwind of fury catches the bronzerider by the hips and tries to push him to a table, THROWING A SHOULDER IN IF SHE'S GOT TO, ONLY TO REALIZE HE'S ALL MUSCLE AND THAT SHE SHOULD PROBABLY STOP TOUCHING, EXCEPT NOW SHE CAN'T AND THIS IS HER LIFE. SOS. K'VIR, CALISI, IT WAS A FUN RUN BUT THIS IS HOW IT ENDS AND OF COURSE IT INVOLVED R'HYN AND - "GO you enormous… MOUNTAIN." AHHHHHH HAHAHA. I KILL MYSELF. ADIEU, I AM GOING TO HELL.

SPEECHLESSNESS. It is what all big dumb bronzeriders of his calibre aspire to, and his success at earning it with Risali and her 'I've-probs-never-been-quiet-in-my-entire-damn-life' self pushes R'hyn right over the edge of humor. Honest amusement cracks right through the smarm, the man snorting so hard that it sets him to wincing, either from the pain of the noise, the LIQUID RAGE going up his nose, or maybe both. Regardless, he ducks his head as he forces himself to settle, to actually swallow that mouthful of alcohol before the laughter can take him out the way Risa probably wishes it would. Death by booze, though; there are worse ways to go. He dares a peek towards the scandalized harper just in time for that screech, eyes crinkling over a shit-eating grin, totally unbothered — until she backs down. THAT surprises him more than the entirety of the rest of their interaction, brows tilting at opposite angles over a smile that becomes just a little bit more feral, exposing one too many a tooth, as if to say 'oh really?' and make some mental note she'll probably hate him for. C'EST LA VIE, N'EST-CE PAS? His own gaze flicks up to the people around them, watching folks return to their music and drinks and dancing, never quite losing his edge of quiet mirth because he's 90% sure it drives Risa up a wall and what is his existence, if not structured to inconvenience her? Or so it seems as he digs his heels in, putting up a big and muscular front, enduring hip-pushing and shoulder-shoving with only the most minor of swaying before, eventually, he relents a single step. LET IT NOT BE SAID THAT THE MOUNTAIN DOES NOT BOW TO THE WIND, OK. HE WILL BEND TO THE WILL OF HURRICANE RISALI - FOR A PRICE. "Alright, alright, shells," he huffs as if her throwing her shoulder into his chest was more a minor inconvenience than… well… throwing her shoulder into his chest. "I will go. I will even buy you a new drink — two," he adds, upping the ante and even going so far as to hold up two fingers in case her POOR DRUNKEN MIND HAS LOST THE ABILITY TO PROCESS NUMBERS. "If you'll consent to dance with me." AWAY GOES HER EMPTY GLASS (safely onto a TABLE you ass, not just chucked over his shoulder LIKE YOU WERE THINKING), if only so he can spread hands wide, as much an invitation to take them and fling into the frey of dancers as it is an invitation to PUNCH HIM IN THE GUT. It's like a choose-your-own-adventure story, except every ending ends with R'hyn in pain!

"AND JUST SO YOU KNOW, I AM BEST FRIENDS WITH THE SENIOR WEYRWOMAN," which is Risali's extremely belated way of saying IMPORTANT PEOPLE LIKE ME, YOU BAG OF DICKS without actually having to say IMPORTANT PEOPLE LIKE ME, YOU BAG OF DICKS. "I SLEEP AT HER HOUSE EVERY WEEK." But there R'hyn goes, being R'hyn, and Risa's urge to murder the bronzerider is on the rise, reaching orange on the scale of JUST KILL HIM and spurred to near-red by R'hyn's INSUFFERABLE DEMEANOR (and finding ALL THINGS RISALI amusing) — and it only gets worse when the man simply refuses to move SANS ONE SINGLE STEP to keep her from going absolutely insane. She doesn't miss his feral smile when she shows an inclination towards CARING WHAT PEOPLE THINK (or maybe that's just a hint of maturity being found somewhere along the line), and she certainly doesn't miss the way his NOT BUDGING seems so FARANTHLY INFURIATINGLY EFFORTLESS when she is giving it all that she's got. See, this is a problem: K'vir lets her think she can push insufferably tall (though perhaps not so riddled with muscle) men around, and it goes to Risali's head. Regardless, he's speaking, and Risali is giving up the ghost in favor of catching her breath and pushing the unruly curls that've since escaped their shoddy attempt at IMPRISONMENT, BECAUSE R'HYN IS AN ASS (albeit an attractive ass - literally. WAIT, SHE MEANS - NO!!!), out of her booze-and-exertion-made-me-red face. That might also be fury. And rage. And a deep, deep hatred for all things overly-tall bronzerider. She looks affronted at him only offering one drink, smug when he amends it, and murderous when he adds on a stipulation to her ABILITY TO GET DRUNK. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four, and Risali's all feral cat herself when she spits out, "Fine. You have been around my father too sharding much." But when Risali moves, there's a quiet grace about her, an unexpectedly human kind of tentativeness when she steps closer to R'hyn until they're almost chest-to-chest (NOT THAT THAT'S REALLY POSSIBLE ANYWAY) and she slips one tiny hand into one of his. Her other hand comes to land on one of his biceps, and those grey eyes focused on where she's placing her own appendages finally comes to land on his face with the sort of shyness that she hides behind a sneer and a scathing, "What, bronzerider?" BECAUSE TITLES AS INSULTS IS TOTALLY A THING. And then she's sniffing in distaste and turning her head to watch some of the other patrons as SHE WAITS - because men lead, right? Even when they're partnered with TEMPESTS THAT JUST MIGHT KILL THEM. Give her a moment though, one, two, three, and then there's another almost-shy-but-I-am-going-to-hide-it-with-rage flicker of grey to grey-blue before she speaks. Maybe this is what she meant when she said he owed her. "I uhm…" Teeth come down hard on her bottom lip, eyes shifting away as if she's second-guessing herself, only to return with determination as she straightens her spine and LEADS if they haven't yet started to dance. NOT THE KIND OF DANCING YOU MEANT, R'HYN? TOO BAD. IT'S A SLOW SONG. "I have a question. K'vir, he… Well there's this goldrider, her name is Bethari. She's beautiful. There was a firelizard mishap and they slept together." Pause, a hushed, "That's okay, right? It was a flight," that sounds more like she's trying to convince herself than that she agrees with it; more like the knowledge hurts despite her logical comprehension of why. And then another moment as she tries to gather her courage and find the proper words under the guise of letting him digest that piece of personal information. "I haven't slept with him yet." IT'S BEEN ALMOST A YEAR. "I've never slept with anybody." AND HERE COMES MORE DETERMINATION, but a sudden refusal to meet R'hyn's eyes. One, two, three, and she clears her throat before she speaks again. "Do you… do you think he's going to leave if I don't? I want to, but… I don't know what I should do, or how I should do it." Maybe this is REVENGE for making her uncomfortable, or maybe she's really asking him for help. ENJOY EXPLAINING THAT TO ILA'DEN.

R'hyn, well… he tries to look impressed. Really he does. But the sarcasm, it is strong with this one - it shows in raised hands and an overplayed 'LOOK OUT, WE HAVE A BADASS OVER HERE' expression, even as he counters with, "I'm best friends with Citayzleat. She invites herself into my weyr at least twice a week whether I invite her or not," said in a tone of mixed 'AND I DON'T GODDAMN KNOW HOW SHE GETS UP THERE' and 'LET'S PUT OUR BFFs INTO A RING AND LET THEM FIGHT OUT WHO IS MORE IMPRESSIVE.' Because I don't know about you, girl, but I'd pay good money for that. But I digress. "Still, I'm very impressed. She seems to be a good influence on your life," he says, still all smile smile smile and pure insufferability as his eyes once again track across the people around them, referencing her CARING or HUMANITY or ATTEMPT AT CONTROLLING HER TEMPER or WHATEVER IT IS WE'RE CALLING IT THESE DAYS. And yet, as with most things, there is that TINY KERNAL OF TRUTH that tucks itself in behind the mirth and wit, that little flicker of REAL that R'hyn tries to hide behind the twinkle in his eyes. He is surprised, and he is impressed, and it might even raise Risali in his esteem just a little bit - not that she was ever very far down anyways. Not really. It's just fun to poke the bear, you know? And so he does, grinning great big and rolling his shoulders in an easy, casual gesture along with a drawled, "That does tend to happen." You know. When you're banging. He doesn't say it. He doesn't. He doesn't even make a lewd expression or waggle his eyebrows or gyrate horribly even though he'd find it funny. He just lets that statement stand for itself, instead focusing on the placement of Risali's hands as well, his own movements just as careful, if lacking in the same measure of grace. AND HE LETS HER LEAD, if only because the sudden maybe-shyness, maybe-rage throws him a little off-kilter, or the women in his life are JUST THAT DOMINATING that this is what he's actually used to. And I mean. Seems real, right? At any rate, he doesn't question her taking charge, doesn't question anything, the glitter in his gaze shifting from mirth to mild surprise to something on the quiet side of understanding, even empathy. There comes a long pause, one that might edge right on up to awkward before he finally says, "It was a flight, Risa. I- we- people," he corrects in an attempt to not make it more weird by relating her plight directly to himself or her father, "are expected to cope with the rhetoric. It isn't any less true just because emotions get tangled up in the logic, but that doesn't make it easy for those on this side of the perspective, either." Translation: he understands, he's been there, it blows, but yes, "It was a flight." Yet, despite the quiet-but-firm way he reemphasizes the mantra she already knows, his thumb shifts against her back, gentle and soothing and perhaps instinctive, as he doesn't seem to be thinking about it as she gathers herself and soldiers on, blue-grey eyes intent on her face, head tilted ever-so-slightly. If she's looking, she might catch the little twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips, chased away by a small frown that lingers, displeasure and tact warring their way around the edges of his mouth as he thinks through his words carefully before issuing a low, "Risali, if that man walks away from someone like you because of sex or any lack thereof, your dad will have to race me to beat the shit out of whatever bits of him you leave behind. And I don't say that out of some sort of misguided he-bronzer, muscle-flexing rage-protectiveness. Life is about more than sex. Love is about more than sex. Weyrs… enjoy a certain sense of freeness about the concept because 'flights happen,' because to some, it isn't something that matters," he says with no small amount of diplomacy, "but if it matters to you, that is enough, and damn anyone who says otherwise."

"Now that is scary," Risali concedes, somehow managing to adopt her father's penchant for playful mischievousness in acknowledging that MAYBE R'hyn's got a point when it comes to the whole Cita thing. "Does she always bring a needle and that ability to scarf down food while berating you at the same time with her?" Despite the caustic harshness of wording, it's clear from Risali's tone that this is said with teasing intent and some measure of respect, even adoration, for the healer in question. Exceeeept - "But Calisi would win." BECAUSE SHE TOTALLY CAUGHT THE HINTS IN HIS VOICE. AND FOR THE RECORD: I WOULD PAY MONEY TO SEE IT TOO. I DON'T THINK IT WOULD END HOW WE EXPECT IT WOULD, THOUGH. It's the observation of Calisi's influence in teaching Risali some semblance of HUMILITY that earns R'hyn a dismissive shrug, though Risali is sure to note that, "She's been there for me through a lot, and so has K'vir. They're good people," before she takes the lead. And speaking of facial expressions, R'HYN TOTALLY DOESN'T HAVE TO SAY IT. You know, that thing about banging? He doesn't even have to GYRATE HIS HIPS in a move that would SURELY end in his emasculation (so good choice on the NOT DOING IT THERE, R'HYN) via some form of castration. Risali catches the implication RIGHT AWAY, whether she wants to or not, and doesn't even BOTHER trying to pretend the look of disgust on her face isn't because she's now SURE that Ila'den and R'hyn do a whole hell of a lot more than kissing. It might also be the reason that Risali's suddenly stomping down on R'hyn's toes, even though she's exercising grace at every turn with the ease practice affords any schooled harper. "Oops," comes the dryly sarcastic acknowledgement of her 'clumsy' feet, followed by, "sorry, Dad." But at least she doesn't punch him. IT'S THE LITTLE THINGS, AMIRITE? Still, grey eyes are locked on blue-grey and narrowed, ISSUING SEVEN DIFFERENT KINDS OF CHALLENGE before she gives in to her shy debacle and makes a fool (or at least with how humiliating this seems to her, leaves her feeling) of herself. "I know that, R'hyn. My mother is a goldrider, my father is a bronzerider - don't you think I know? V'ric is the real father of my second brother and I know it. But this was just…" Risali pulls them into a little turn, facing herself away from the crowd despite their disinterest in this particular conversation anyway, as if the motion might help give her some anonymity with R'hyn - and the courage to pursue a topic she probably has never even broached with K'vir himself. Because she knows it's not fair? To keep him from feeling guilt, or shame, or regret? Perhaps all of the above. "It was different. L'or, he said… He told me that K'vir's always admired Bethari from afar, and that he's had to pull them off of each other before. L'or is her weyrmate. He uhm… he helped me through a flight before." Which might have been a little more 'intense' form of help than she was expecting, given the sudden flush on her face. But she pushes on. "He - K'vir — caught Calisi in a flight and that didn't… that didn't hurt like this does." There's a tough one to swallow (for her), but the translation of her inner turmoil is probably clear enough: was it really just a flight? It's a split second of seeing Risali look completely crestfallen, and then her lips are setting again in that straight-line of determined female badassery, of not letting it burrow further than it has, of being that tempest spitfire that'd fight her way out of hell rather than succumb to UNNECESSARY EMOTIONS with another dismissive, "Nevermind. It's not important." And she's spinning them again, though whether it's to keep proper steps or rid herself of the vulnerability eluded to when she faced away from the crowd is up for debate. And then she stops, letting go of R'hyn when he makes threats and gives compliments that send her slightly off-kilter. For a moment, the tiny woman simply stands there staring, grey eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, and then she's punching him in the arm to distract from her sudden embarrassment. "My ass it's not some sort of misguided he-bronzer, muscle-flexing rage-protectiveness. Again: around my father too long. You don't get to talk with your fists when you're upset, R'hyn. You have to be a person. Being a person means that you be the bigger person." THIS COMING FROM HER. HA. But does she sound pleased? Maybe a little. Maybe a lot, if the smile she hides by ducking her head, adopting a cough, and stomping on R'hyn's toes again is anything to go by. "I know, R'hyn. You're right. Thank you." And then? JUST BECAUSE SHE HAS TO RUIN IT: "I still hate you though, you know." But there's affection, there's that ghost of a smile still on her lips, and for a moment Risali feigns interest in their footing as she leads him back into a dance. "K'vir is a good man, R'hyn. I just worry that maybe even good men have their limits. My Dad already threatened to kill him." She wishes she was joking. She's not. "But you didn't answer my question: what should I do? I mean, is there some prerequisite? Should I dress a certain way? Is there a good time?" YEAH, HAVE FUN R'HYN. SHE CLEARLY DOESN'T WANT YOU TO TELL HER TO FOLLOW HER HEART.

"If not a needle, then a bag full of books heavy enough to fell a runner if she swings it just so," R'hyn quips right back, head shaking and eyes adopting a vaguely distant, dramatically haunted look. "I really don't know how she does it." Gets up to his weyr, seemingly all on her own, with thirty pounds of books, he means. STILL. AGREE TO DISAGREE, Risali's implication that Calisi would win met with a high-pitched, vaguely-strangled noise that says much about his doubts as to that claim. "Eeeeehhh, I dunno, I'm pretty sure Cita's started using scalpels to hold her hair up. She might win via simple convenience of sharp and pointy objects on her person at all times." At least it's all in good jest - his grin eventually dims from chicanery into something real, glancing Risa over before focusing on dancing again. "Good. Everyone deserves good people in their lives." EVEN SHIT-BRAINED, TWO-FACED HARPIES, or so he hisses in the wake of that 'accidental' toe stomp, insults colorfully mixed betwixt and between a few choice swear words. "You're grounded," he clips out at the end, though he might hobble for a few steps longer than is strictly necessary, if only to mildly inconvenience her attempted return to grace. His flat, sardonic expression continues even into her insistence that she knows flights are flights, though the nature of the expression changes from 'I said biiiitch' to something more like 'if you're gonna ask me personal questions, leave your sass at the door, thank-you,' as though he doesn't know who he's talking to here. That clarification, though - it disperses visibly through his person as ink might in water, striking hard and fast through his eyes before pooling slowly through face and limbs. Silence defines him for a beat, two, shuffling in place to keep up the pretense of dancing before he huffs out a quiet, gruff, concerned, "I suppose that depends. If it was different, is it something you are willing to talk about, look past, work on, or is it something that will always nag at you in the back of your mind? There are plenty of good people in the world; none of them have the right to cause you unhappiness." A beat, a lip twitch for the return of her fire and ferocity, and a low uttered, "Bullshit," for saying it's not important, but for now he allows the topic to change, taking the punch in the arm with a wince and a barked laugh. "I'm almost always the bigger person," he retorts, hand sliding from her back to wave at the level of his forehead - literally the bigger person, get it?! "But riding right on past how that's a fat lot coming from the woman that threw a bubbly at my face the last time she got mad at me— you're right. Violence isn't the answer. Maybe we'll just toss him between and let his dragon find him." OR NOT, as it were, his sing-song tone implies, eyes scrunching up with a return smile, one that gentles the hard edge of threats - threats he probably wouldn't follow up on, not really, meant instead as hyperbole to emphasize the point, one she seems to have grasped, even if she has to GO AND RUIN IT IN TYPICAL RISALI FASHION. He laughs through it, a low, rolling chuckle accompanied by a slow shake of his head. "Good. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if you found it within yourself to actually like me. Thanks is enough - I'm already worried about you." R'hyn's own expression sobers somewhat, and though the twinkle in his eye remains, the rest of him goes along with the facade, watching her watch their footing before he huffs quietly through his nose. "I understand, and I don't think you're wrong. Some do. See what he has to say, see if he has a side to the story. If it's acceptable, maybe you can move on; if it isn't, well…" Maybe he won't have to give SEX ADVICE. OH. NO. WE'RE GOING TO GREEN-LIGHT THAT CONVERSATION ANYWAYS? WELL, OKAY. THERE GOES R'HYN'S FACE THEN, scrunching up and flushing across cheekbones and eartips, hoping he'd make it out without having to lie wholeheartedly to Ila about what kept him in Xanadu so long. OH NOTHING. JUST HAVING DRINKS WITH YOUR DAUGHTER. TELLING HER HOW TO DRESS TO APPEAL TO MEN. THIS IS ALL FINE. This and more flashes through his eyes, held there through an inhale and then dispelled with an exhale that sounds suspiciously like 'you're dad's gonna kill me before he ever gets to K'vir.' Then: "That's purely per your preference. Some people like to preplan things - dinner somewhere hushed and intimate, an excursion somewhere inspirational, outfits designed to slay with every inch of leather or lace. Others prefer spontinaeity, in something silly and lovely and quiet that you do every day turning into something charged, something more, and letting yourself go." And god bless, but he doesn't intend it, but there's something simultaneously awful and wonderful about the timbre of his voice when he paints a poetic picture about it, not quite teasing, not quite provoking, not quite asking, but inviting a response nonetheless. And then? BECAUSE HE HAS TO RUIN THINGS, TOO: "What do you think you would like?"

See, Citayzleat is a boss ass bitch, and the look that Risali gives R'hyn in response to 30 pounds of face-destroying possibility, a hair full of scalpels, and the mental image of the healer scaling a VERY, VERY TALL CLIFF IN ORDER TO REACH A LEDGE IN THE SKY, just so she can PROBABLY use her deadly knowledge of anatomy ON R'HYN (because THAT IS THE ONLY CORRECT ANSWER) has Risali giving the bronzerider a grimace-smile that says maybe she agrees. But only maybe. It's his HISSED INSULTS that have the harper looking (yet again) deviously pleased with herself by cocking up her chin and smiling through her teeth, even when he attempts to THWART HER VICTORY with his less-than-stellar RHYTHM (FIGHT HER). "You really know how to make a woman want to grovel," Risali tease-flirts, with emphasis on the tease because EW (secret yay). IT'S R'HYN. R'HYN PLUS DAD EQUALS I DON'T WANT TO BLEEPSCREECH TALK ABOUT IT. BLEEPSCREECHPTERODACTYLSOUNDSBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP. Still, with the high, comes that gut-punch feeling of low, where the nausea rises despite Risali's best efforts to scowl through it and maybe keep laughing (an interesting combo, possibly bordering on TERRIFYING) at R'hyn's failed attempts of parenting. Grounded? HA. Haha. Ha. …Ha. So she punches him, and he speaks, and they continue with their dance. It's all going great - better than great, really. Until it happens. That inner tempest threatens to go out for just a moment, flaring white-hot before turning into an ember that has Risali stumbling again and catching hard at R'hyn to keep herself from falling over her own (and probably his) feet. It might be hard to believe sometimes, but Risali is human, and she does have emotions, and sometimes she even - WILL NOT CRY. SHE WILL NOT CRY. The suspicious wetness of her eyes is blinked back with a look that speaks more to inconvenience at her tear-duct's betrayal than hurt, and then she gives R'hyn one of those watery smiles; you know: too much teeth, the scrunched up nose, the 'I'm-okay-everything-is-okay' curl of lips that's so forced it's painful just to watch - she even chokes out a laugh, that might have been half of a sob, and jerks her hands away from the bronzerider altogether, up in the air as if she surrenders. "Bigger person. Because you're so tall. I get it. Ha." Except Risali isn't that slow-witted, is she? Not so slow that it takes her a conversation-and-a-half to get R'hyn's PERFECTLY FUNNY, SELF-DEPRECATING HUMOR AIMED AT HIS OBNOXIOUS HEIGHT. But she tries: "Funny. And you'll never have to find out - what you'd have to do with yourself if I liked you, I mean. I'll always -" A pause, one of those stricken looks, and then Risali is whispering out, "-hate you." And for a moment, the harper stands there aware that she's crying but unable to stop it - the silent kind of crying, where her face isn't broadcasting any emotion outside of her own shock, a silent acknowledgement of the tears that come spilling unwarranted. And she's back into motion, dabbing at her eyes with her hands, looking at the wetness on them as if it's come kind of foreign substance she can't name, and then she's rubbing her hands on the back of her pants like it's little more than some water from the sink - common, unworthy of attention, dismissed. "Faranth. We aren't going to talk about it." And Risali says it pointedly, sans the usual threat she might wield, as she steps back up to the bronzerider and catches him at the elbow. "And you're still going to dance with me." So unless he FIGHTS HER, they do JUST. THAT. So here we go, back on point, back on topic, back to answering R'hyn because he was KIND ENOUGH TO HAVE THIS CONVERSATION DESPITE THE VERY-REAL POSSIBILITY OF BEING MURDERED BY WHISKEY-DRUNK, PIANO PLAYING BRONZERIDERS NAMED ILA'DEN THAT JUST SO HAPPEN TO BE HER FATHER (how unfortunate for you, R'HYN). Only she can't, because there's more: "He's the one who told me. And he was… he was very gentle about it. I mean, I went home, to Half Moon Bay for a while and he kept sending me letters and gifts even when I wasn't responding to him. I guess I just…" A pause, as Risali licks her lips and tries to think of how to explain. "He told me that when Zekath is in a flight, if he lost, he can control it. I get dragons, but… firelizards? I would think a dragon's influence would be stronger, but am I wrong?" She's genuinely asking; how is she to know? She's not a dragonrider, and she has yet to experience the pull of her own flits. Regardless, she shakes her head, like she doesn't really want an answer. "It's really not important. I love him. I don't want to leave." AND THAT ANSWERS THAT, DOESN'T IT. So, back to the FARANTH-AWFUL AWKWARD SEX-TALK THING. Risali bites her bottom lip, as if in thought, sniffs in that way that people who have been crying do, and then blinks owlishly up at R'hyn. "So I could ask him to spar with me and then just… right there? Wouldn't he be tired?" And oneandtwoandthreeandfour. ON WITH THE DANCING. THIS IS PERFECTLY NORMAL. RIGHT? RIGHT.

Acknowledgement of Cita and her badassery complete, R'hyn can only shoot Risali a playfully chiding look, one that clearly reads 'I can't believe you're making me say this, but goddamnit you set this up, and I can't help but take the bait.' Down he leans, lips curled, lids squinted ever so slightly as he asks, with no small amount of impishness, "And just what would you know about my ability to make women grovel?" NOTHING, YOUR ROYAL RUDENESSNESS, though he at least has the good grace to not make that comment GENDER NEUTRAL or make it ANY WEIRDER that he's well on his way to being her like, Pernese step-dad or something and GOSH but let's JUST NOT OKAY. Let's just pretend this conversation never happened. Cue record rewinding noise, never called him dad, never made bad grounded jokes, swewslekrtfsjdljkwoop gone, to be replaced by lights winking into embers and stumbles that have him slowing to a halt, hands attempting to catch at Risali's person to keep missteps from becoming a fall. One kind of panic trades itself for another, concern for her physical well-being tagging out for worry over her mental one with a blink, wide eyes and an open mouth fading slow with a twitch of sympathy and lips pressed in apology. "I'm sorry," he says, possibly out of reflex, possibly for something he's said, matching her watery over-compensated grin with a sideways-twitched smile of his own, one that doesn't quite erase the concern from his gaze. The poor man, he's at a loss, not quite good enough friends to swoop in and baby a strong independent woman who ain't need no man (especially not R'hyn-shaped men), but not quite callous enough to not do anything either. So he steps inwards when the tears finally spill over, big body between her and the rest of the dance floor, employing said OBNOXIOUS HEIGHT to shield her from view. It's not enough, his own face solemn if dry, one hand lifting to gently brush against flyaway hair. It's not quite petting, not quite patting, some strange mix of the two that's awkward and well-intentioned and so very R'hyn. It's there and gone in a series of seconds, along with a quiet, "I'll always hate you too." Except not really, not at all, but if there's more he was going to say, it gets lost when tears are dashed and elbows are grabbed, and he's only too compliant, backing out of excessive proximity to return to proper dancing pose. Leave room for Faranth, folks. "He was?," R'hyn asks, a small sliver of surprise worming into his words, hmm-ing quietly as though this was positive information at last. Still— "I'm not sure either, to be honest - Zula's only risen once and it was…" A god-damned DISASTER, or so reads his face, jaw tensing and shifting with an apparently unpalatable memory, as willing to let it go as she is - to a point. "Still. If you want me to, I'll find out. I've a friend whose dad's a Dragonhealer, I'm sure he gets questions all the time. I could quietly send him a letter, and you could tell me if you ever wanted the answer." And he leaves the offer at that, even though it looks like he might say more, might argue but— again, not that level of friend, not his place. So instead he waits with no small amount of trepidation for the return of SEX ED FT. PROF. R'HYN. Luckily, that question is not as bad as what he was expecting. "Asking a man if he'd like to have sex even if he's tired is like asking a child if they'd like to have dessert despite a large meal: the answer will probably be yes, and sometimes, it might even be 'yes yes yes yes!," he drawls with a fey gleam in his eye, not quite making it back to full amusement but getting damn near close. Something something reach. Something something flexibility. Something something calibrations. "Do what you want. Do what you'll like. Do what will make you look back on it with fondness, or humor, or at the very least, Faranth-I-was-young-and-dumb-ness. And most importantly, do it because you want to, and not a second sooner. If that's on the sparring mats when he's hot and sweaty and you just can't stand it anymore, then so be it." He's not teasing her. He's not. But maybe he is a little bit, if only in a silly attempt to give her something else to focus on. Ridiculous man.

UGH. Yes. No, not yes. UGH. That is the only word that can adequately describe the sudden look of DISGUST on Risali's face when the bronzerider asks what SHE, RISALI, PERFECT R'HYN-HATING SPECIMEN THAT SHE IS, would know about him making women GROVEL (even if those were HER WORDS). "Faranth, you're right. I was wrong. Get your wherry-esque face out of mine. Consider the compliment redacted," all said with feigned BEEPBEEPBACKUPTHISISNOTADRILL as she's drawing back from him in that overly dramatic fashion that people do when they are PLAYFULLY avoiding unwanted attention from someone else. Hand IN THE FACE, PUSHING, INCLUDED. Someone that maybe is disgusting. Or the lover of their father. OR R'HYN. WEIRD PERN VERSION OF STEP-FATHERSHEDOESN'TWANNATALKABOUTIT. YES, SO SWEWSLEKRTFSJDLKWOOP GONE, THAR SHE GOES. BYE FELICIA. Which leaves those uncomfortably pesky EMOTIONS and R'hyn's UNBEARABLE SWEETNESS (gag her), and LET US NOT FORGET words of affection exchanged under the guise of IRREFUTED DISLIKE. A LIE, but a sanity-keeping kind of FRIENEMY, ONLY I CAN TELL HIM HE'S UGLY lie that keeps her from exploring just WHY, MAYBE, SHE LIKES THAT BICEP UNDER HER HAND SO MUCH (FARANTH EW SHE DOES NOT) and makes it so that she doesn't have to question those oddly comforting pet-pats that send her already discordant hair into further disarray. It also has the bonus of keeping her from actually murdering him (which would make Ila'den sad and her probably really dead, which would make K'vir sad enough to maybe go back to Rulayn and WHO WANTS TO LIVE THROUGH THAT SERIES OF UNFORUNATE EVENTS? NOT RISALI), so huzzah! VICTORY FOR ALL! And true to her nature, Risali does her damndest to pretend that it was DEFINITELY not her crying, the dance floor was just SUSPICIOUSLY DUSTY FOR A MINUTE THERE and R'hyn CERTAINLY DID NOT JUST ENDURE HER EMOTIONS because that would be LUDICROUS. So here we are, with a dismissive headshake in regards to asking dragonhealers questions she really doesn't want the answer to, and back to the GOOD OLD JUICY TOPIC OF SEXSEXSEXSEX (with a dash of I'm TOO DAMN INNOCENT TO KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS for flavor). "Gross," is all Risali says, but then she's letting R'hyn go with one last twirl of her own, coming to an almost-graceful halt facing him with nothing but pure determination on her face. Her hair is askew, her eyes have that tell-tale puffy redness about them, she JUST MIGHT BE RUDOLPH if one is looking at her nose, and those clothes certainly aren't going to slay any bronzerider (even if they've been pining after her for nearly TWO TURNS, CINNAMON ROLL K'VIR THE SAINT), but she takes a breath and applies hands to her hips anyway. "I just realized any of your exploits probably involve the man who helped make me and I really, really, really don't want to know. So shut up, and just tell me how I look." One, two, three, and then there's a sly smile as she saunters back, goes up on the tips of her toes (and pulls him down if she must) to apply a kiss to the apple of his cheek. "I actually don't really care," About what he thinks, she means. About how she looks, "but thank you. For talking to me. I think I'm going to go test his reach and my flexibility." CACKLE. SHE HEARD THAT. MENTAL CONNECTION OR SOMETHING IDK GO WITH IT. And then she's off again, weaving through the crowd to GO AND GET HER SOME. Spoiler: SHE TOTALLY CHICKENS OUT. RIP, sweet K'vir. It'll be another 6 TURNS YET.

UGH. Yes. No, not yes. UGH. That is the only word that can adequately describe the sudden look of DISGUST on Risali's face when the bronzerider asks what SHE, RISALI, PERFECT R'HYN-HATING SPECIMEN THAT SHE IS, would know about him making women GROVEL (even if those were HER WORDS). "Faranth, you're right. I was wrong. Get your wherry-esque face out of mine. Consider the compliment redacted," all said with feigned BEEPBEEPBACKUPTHISISNOTADRILL as she's drawing back from him in that overly dramatic fashion that people do when they are PLAYFULLY avoiding unwanted attention from someone else. Hand IN THE FACE, PUSHING, INCLUDED. Someone that maybe is disgusting. Or the lover of their father. OR R'HYN. WEIRD PERN VERSION OF STEP-FATHERSHEDOESN'TWANNATALKABOUTIT. YES, SO SWEWSLEKRTFSJDLKWOOP GONE, THAR SHE GOES. BYE FELICIA. Which leaves those uncomfortably pesky EMOTIONS and R'hyn's UNBEARABLE SWEETNESS (gag her), and LET US NOT FORGET words of affection exchanged under the guise of IRREFUTED DISLIKE. A LIE, but a sanity-keeping kind of FRIENEMY, ONLY I CAN TELL HIM HE'S UGLY lie that keeps her from exploring just WHY, MAYBE, SHE LIKES THAT BICEP UNDER HER HAND SO MUCH (FARANTH EW SHE DOES NOT) and makes it so that she doesn't have to question those oddly comforting pet-pats that send her already discordant hair into further disarray. It also has the bonus of keeping her from actually murdering him (which would make Ila'den sad and her probably really dead, which would make K'vir sad enough to maybe go back to Rulayn and WHO WANTS TO LIVE THROUGH THAT SERIES OF UNFORUNATE EVENTS? NOT RISALI), so huzzah! VICTORY FOR ALL! And true to her nature, Risali does her damndest to pretend that it was DEFINITELY not her crying, the dance floor was just SUSPICIOUSLY DUSTY FOR A MINUTE THERE and R'hyn CERTAINLY DID NOT JUST ENDURE HER EMOTIONS because that would be LUDICROUS. So here we are, with a dismissive headshake in regards to asking dragonhealers questions she really doesn't want the answer to, and back to the GOOD OLD JUICY TOPIC OF SEXSEXSEXSEX (with a dash of I'm TOO DAMN INNOCENT TO KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS for flavor). "Gross," is all Risali says, but then she's letting R'hyn go with one last twirl of her own, coming to an almost-graceful halt facing him with nothing but pure determination on her face. Her hair is askew, her eyes have that tell-tale puffy redness about them, she JUST MIGHT BE RUDOLPH if one is looking at her nose, and those clothes certainly aren't going to slay any bronzerider (even if they've been pining after her for nearly TWO TURNS, CINNAMON ROLL K'VIR THE SAINT), but she takes a breath and applies hands to her hips anyway. "I just realized any of your exploits probably involve the man who helped make me and I really, really, really don't want to know. So shut up, and just tell me how I look." One, two, three, and then there's a sly smile as she saunters back, goes up on the tips of her toes (and pulls him down if she must) to apply a kiss to the apple of his cheek. "I actually don't really care," About what he thinks, she means. About how she looks, "but thank you. For talking to me. I think I'm going to go test his reach and my flexibility." CACKLE. SHE HEARD THAT. MENTAL CONNECTION OR SOMETHING IDK GO WITH IT. And then she's off again, weaving through the crowd to GO AND GET HER SOME. Spoiler: SHE TOTALLY CHICKENS OUT. RIP, sweet K'vir. It'll be another 6 TURNS YET.

THAT'S WHAT HE THOUGHT. R'hyn is hardly insulted by her disgust - if anything, he seems gratified by it, teeth flashing in a wide grin that bubbles over into outright laughter when she reaches up and PUSHES HIS FACE AWAY. He lets her do it, puts up zero fight, nose wrinkling and making a fuss about wiping her PALM SWEAT or SKIN FLAKES or something off his face when her hand finally moves away. "Thank Faranth, I didn't want to say anything, but your praise was so uncomfortable. I'm glad we're back to the status quo," he quips, but it's on the gentle side of playful, lacking that 'I just might fight you even if you ARE a GIRL and my lover's DAUGHTER and shit howdidwegetonthistopic again' quality that tries to snag around the edges with Risali. No, the gloves are off, and even though this might be their own dynamic, their own way to admit affection without having to acknowledge it as existing, it's too late and he's been too nice - so he gives up and cuts the crap and is UNBEARABLY SWEET and TOTALLY OBLIVIOUS TO ANY IMPURE THOUGHTS SHE MIGHT HAVE ABOUT HIS BICEPS BECAUSE HE'S R'HYN AND ATTRACTION (EVEN DISGUSTED ATTRACTION) COULD DRESS IN DRAG AND THROW HIM A LUAU AND IT PROBABLY WOULDN'T OCCUR TO HIM. At any rate, we're murder-free, which really IS best for everyone because yes, the final takeaway of all of this is that K'vir really should NOT be sent spiralling back to Rulayn at the end of some bizarre series of events that better belongs in Game of Weyrs or As Pern Turns. So he lets her collect herself, lets her pretend it was dust even though they both know better, slides back from concerned soul to frienemy with a return wrinkle of his nose and a sarcastically muttered, "I have had other lovers, you know." But… she has a point, and anyways she's spinning away to pose and ask him how she looks and so he rolls his eyes great big as though aggrieved and drawls a gruff, fond, "Like the ugliest, rudest, most wher-faced harpy I've ever had the misfortune to come across." Translation: she looks lovely, puffy eyes, red nose, and all. He might even say so, or at least some rendition thereof if only to prove he isn't an asshole to a woman who's recently been crying, but then she's pulling his head down to kiss his cheek and insist she doesn't care what he thinks (which, valid, WHO DOES, really?), and R'hyn is so surprised that it renders him briefly speechless. One rapid blink passes, then two, then three, and finally he recovers with a rolling chuckle and a lip-quirked, "Knock him dead," followed swiftly by, "And Risa? Anytime. Really." AND ON THAT NOTE, HE NEEDS A DRINK. MAYBE THREE OR FOUR. MAYBE IF HE'S REALLY, REALLY DRUNK HE CAN JUST 'I'M CUTE' INTO DISTRACTING ILA FROM ASKING IF HE SAW RISALI WHILE HE WAS AT XANADU. Yes. Perfect. How can this go wrong. And so off he goes, back to the bar with a huffed sign and a flick of floppy hair. He's so screwed.